


Simmering Poison

by smuttyandabsurd



Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Anne Rice - Freeform, M/M, One Shot, Vampire Chronicles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 04:30:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smuttyandabsurd/pseuds/smuttyandabsurd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The things I touch, I see, I hear, smell, taste! – they serve to remind me of my mortality, the fragility of my human existence, that one day all around me would cease to be. And it maddens me to know that it need not be so!"</p>
<p>Daniel anguishes over his mortality.</p>
<p>Armand/Daniel. Angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simmering Poison

He would arrive within the first hour after sunset, brown eyes burning with vigour for life, his skin flushed from a fresh kill and hot to the touch. He appeared very human then, the Vampire Armand, an excitable student drinking in everything the nocturnal city has to offer. Sometimes he cropped his rich auburn hair in adherence to modern fashion, to better mingle among us mortals, and he has done so tonight with a pair of mirrored sunglasses pushed up. He took them off now, snapped them close.

“Wake up, Daniel,” he urged, extending towards me one of his pale white hands, warm with sacrificial blood but smooth and hard in mine. He pulled me from bed and gently guided my sluggish form to the shower.

How I love the feel of those hands, gleaming like marble but surprisingly responsive to fleshly sensations. With a thick lather of soap they wander covetously like satin gloves over my naked skin; my chest, my shoulders, down my arms, fingers linking into mine, intertwining. Those unblinking eyes of his would hold mine in an unbroken gaze, dragging me deep in a downward spiral, deliciously disorientating. Then our lips would meet, and at last, at last, his blood on my tongue, the electrifying elixir.

This time my thirst overwhelmed me. My hands clamped around his wrists as my mouth pressed tighter to his, and with all my strength I held him pinned against the wall, not caring that the water soaked into his clothes. His inhuman blood was addictive, intoxicating, and I clamoured for it as if I was a vampire myself, with a crippling greed and an insatiable lust.

Surprise held him frozen. I could see it in his widened eyes, deceptively innocent in his momentary vulnerability. Then they softened in mirth, ever so patient with my insubordinate behaviour we both knew to be woefully unmatched against his preternatural strength. Nonetheless he held still as I ravished the inside of his warm, moist mouth, and still thirsting my teeth tore into his bottom lip, and the blood droplets that beaded from the wound I eagerly licked like sweet nectar.

Finally he broke off the kiss, and satiated for the time being I allowed him to return to his task, rinse off the soap suds, towel my body dry, then steer me back into the room. I simply sat dazedly at the edge of the bed, picking out the wood grain pattern on my bedside table and marvelling the astonishing detail I could see, courtesy of his blood.

I wondered idly if one ever got used to it, this enhanced vision and the sharpness of every minute detail.

He dressed me carefully with clothes he had picked from my wardrobe, so attentive to my every need. Soft kisses on my temples, my cheeks, like so many tributes, as he slid my arms into the shirt sleeves. Then he did up the buttons, smoothed out the starched collar, and hardly reacted when I took hold of his hands again and pulled him closer to me, burying my face into the exposed crook of his neck.

“Give it to me, please. Bring me over to you, to the blood,” I whispered needily.

His body stiffened, the kisses stopped. The anger would rise, poorly masking the pain, the sadness, but for the moment he kept his silence in the hope that I would change the subject and talk of other things. Plans for tonight maybe, places to go, sights to see.

But I refuse to let it drop.

Every day I die a little, in the physical process we call aging. The things I touch, I see, I hear, smell, taste! – they serve to remind me of my mortality, the fragility of my human existence, that one day all around me would cease to be. And it maddens me to know that it need not be so! That Armand has it in his power to make me like him, eternal, beautiful, alive for centuries in the future to see wonders I cannot in my miserable lifetime ever know of!

His expression took on a mask-like quality as fury boiled from within, surging forth as if to melt his porcelain calmness. And his fury at me infuriated me – what am I, some mortal pet? Always I would cast back to Louis’ account of Dennis, the Parisian boy Armand had kept so lovingly only to die at his own hands when it suited his purpose.

Oh he would pick from my mind these thoughts, I could never hide anything from him. And his rage would amplify, his hurt becoming more pronounced. All appearances of youth and innocence are no more as his half a century existence, and the many unfortunate turns it has taken, broke to the surface.

“Give it to me!” a hoarse demand now, despairing. Armand will never give it to me. Immortality is beyond my grasp, forever denied, even as it danced so tantalisingly within my reach.

Then came the embrace, the fierce kiss, another taste of the blood to appease me, imploring me to stop.

Not enough, never enough...

“I love you!” he whispered passionately. I think I mumbled back the same, I love you too.

But you anger me, you son of a bitch, you detached immortal monster who would watch me die. I detest you!

No resolution in words, just this resentment simmering beneath the surface like poison.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty pleased with how this turned out actually. As an Armand fan I found Daniel annoying, but in this fic I wanted to explore their love-hate relationship - a lot of love from Armand, a lot of resentment and jealousy from Daniel. 
> 
> And I tried to understand Daniel's mentality. The poor boy just became obsessed with the possibility of immortality, and who am I to judge him? I would go crazy too if I knew I could live past my lifetime only if I can coax some hot pretty boy into giving me his blood. I'm certainly more sympathetic to Daniel now.


End file.
